The Trench Coat
by SPNluva
Summary: Dean struggles to accept the death of Castiel.


**A Dirty Trench Coat - Preview**

Dean sat at the small table in a nondescript motel room, his hand wrapped loosely round a glass filled with scotch. Laptop open in front of him, he stared blankly at the screen, the images of Japanese porn flickering but holding little interest.

"I'll be back in a couple of hours Dean." Sam said. Pulling on his jacket and throwing his bag over his shoulder.

Raising the glass Dean saluted. "No problem princess, me and hunters friend here will be just fine without you."

Sam stood for a minute, an expression of concern flickering over his face. "Dean—"

"What?"

"Are you okay?"

"Peachy."

Saying nothing further, he realized that Dean would not be opening up about what was bothering him. Walking to the door, he sent one final concerned glance over to his brother, then turned and walked out.

Dean put down the glass and listened as the Impala engine rumbled to life and Sam pulled away. He sat for a few minutes, his body still as he waited until the sound of the Impala disappeared and silence descended. Once certain that Sam was gone and wouldn't be back any time soon he bent down and picked up his bag. Reaching inside he pulled out out his most precious possession. An old dirty, blood caked trench coat.

"God Dammit Cas." He whispered brokenly.

Picking up his glass, he took the trench coat and walked to the bed; Sitting, arms resting heavily on his knees he stared across the room, unseeing. His mind returning to the last time that he had seen Cas wearing the trench coat, the last time that he had looked into the eyes of his friend.

"_Run, they're coming." He had screamed his expression tortured and full of pain as he struggled to contain the monsters possessing his vessel. Forcing him out, killing him._

"_Who?"_

"_Leviathan!"_

He had watched the crystal blue eyes of his friend turn manic as the Leviathan had tore their way through him, possessing him completely. It was in that one torturous moment that Dean had realised that Castiel would fight with his last breath to keep him safe and that he had.

Swallowing the scotch he grimaced as the liquid burned a trail of fire down his throat. Placing the glass on the floor he lay back; spreading the trench coat over him he allowed memories of the Angel who had been his friend, Hell more that his friend, to surface and flow over him.

The angel had pulled him from Hell, fallen for him and died twice to stop the Apocalypse. He had sacrificed everything and what had he given him in return. Nothing! When Cas had pleaded with him to understand that he was doing what he had to do, he had turned away, hostile and self righteous. Basically he had been a dick. He had refused to consider things from Cas's perspective and as a result he had forced his friend to take drastic action. In the end everything he had done, he had done for him Dean "Screw You" Winchester.

His heart pounded as anger coursed through him in much the same way as the scotch had, burning a blazing trail through him. "God Dammit!" he swore loudly, the sound echoing in the silence of the room.

"_The other angel, the one in the dirty trench coat who is in love with you."_

He had scoffed and shrugged off Balthazar's comments with a dismissive twitch of his brow but now he wondered, wondered what would have happened if he had called Cas on it. Damn, he couldn't believe how tight his chest became when he thought of Cas being in love with him. He was Dean Winchester, one hundred percent all male and heterosexual, or was he. There was no denying the times that he felt drawn to Cas, drowning in the depths of intense blue eyes and how he had became so accustomed to his personal space issues. Maybe he was angel sexual. Cas's vessel may have been male, but his being, his essence was neither human or male. He was just Castiel Angel of the Freaking Lord.

"_I am sorry Dean—"_Face filled with pain, arms wrapped around a vessel which was falling apart. Castiel had pleaded for his forgiveness swore that he would find a way to make things right. He had known that he was going to die and, even with that knowledge, his final thoughts were of him. He didn't deserve that kind of devotion or loyalty and he certainly hadn't deserved his love.

He wished that he could go back in time, let him know that he understood; help him, anything to have save him from the path that he had been on.

Now it was too late. All that was left of his angel was a dirty trench coat. They hadn't even had his vessel to bury, so consumed was it in the implosion when the Leviathan had broken free. A trench coat that had become the only thing holding him together, if he lost that then he was sure that he would lose himself. Take himself over a cliff and end it once and for all. Christ he knew if it hadn't been for Sam, he probably would have done that already.

Lying there he found himself drawn into sleep as he clutched the trench coat, the unique scent of his angel filling his nostrils. The whispered "Help me Dean" merging unheard as memories of times past filled and comforted him.

TBC

So what did you think? Please review my first attempt at a Destial fic.


End file.
